


how dare you speak of grace

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Anal Fingering, Clothing Kink, M/M, Scandal, basketball player!Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: "Jen. Sweetheart, lemme explain. Let me tell you,” he pleads, and Jensen reaches up high enough to shove Jared back, hands wrapped around biceps.Jared comes back from an away game underneath a storm of media scrutiny, and Jensen has a decision to make.





	

“I didn’t have any part in it.”

  
It’s the first thing Jared says when he fights his way into the house, bows his head against the onslaught of reporters and cameras, whirring about questions like bullets.

  
JD is fielding all commentary with the gruff sort of finesse that he’s known for, and there are four bodyguards flanking Jared, not quite as tall but maybe wider in the torso.

  
Jared’s got his Bulls cap on backwards, matching team jacket, stark blood in contrast with the darker colors he favors.

  
JD is still wrestling with the door, drags the other obsidian-clad men indoors so that they can form a barrier between the exit and chaos.

  
Jensen’s eyes are wide and he’s sure they’re red-rimmed, and he doesn’t exactly want Jared’s chief of security to see him like this.

  
He’s tucked into one of Jared’s old UNC hoodies, long-sleeved, his college number emblazoned down the arms and back.

  
It’s almost washed-colorless; Jared gave this to him the night he first slept over, pulled it over top of his stomach himself.  
Jensen wants it off his body, wants to burn his skin alive in it. It also smells like him, wood-fire and pine, salt-sweat.

  
Jared leans over to whisper something into JD’s ear and JD grunts once, backs out of sight and motions to the mafia, as Jen calls them behind closed fists.

  
Jared’s by his side instantly, head angled low so he can reach Jensen’s eyes.

  
“I didn't do it,” Jared says, as firm and calm as he reports all his truths and Jensen trembles once, wide-eyed.

  
“S’all over the news,” he hears himself say, detached. They've only been married for a year. Jared’s still trying to convince him to come home regularly to meet his parents.

  
They've just bought this big house in Kenilworth, four unnecessary stories that they've purchased just because Jared’s family is big in size and in height and Jensen just likes the excess space after living in a hole for so long.

  
Jared unzips his jacket and tosses it onto an armchair, warm mahogany color that Jensen picked out himself.

  
It puts Jared strikingly close, veined arms opening wide like he usually does when returning from a trip.

  
Jensen had to stay at home for work, plugging away on a spread about the newest acquisition for the Houston Rockets, nineteen years old and a real pain in Jensen’s ass.

  
Jensen’s met with him every day this week and the kid's done everything but leer over him, breathing down his neck with youthful exuberance.

  
Jensen allows it because he needs the exposure and he doesn't want the Tribune to think he's a one piece kind of guy, wrapped up in his husband and all things surrounding him.

  
This isn't the news he intended.

  
“Baby?” Jared says, widens his arms even further and raises his brows.

Jensen’s just glad he tugged sweatpants on before he bounded downstairs.

  
His head is reverberating and he doesn't know what to believe. He hates feeling that way, like he’s caught in a crossfire, or as if he was told it was a slumber party and he brought his favorite pillow, when in reality, it was really an execution.

  
“Explain it to me, then,” Jensen demands, voice coming out softer than he’d like. He twists his hands inside Jared’s sleeves and hates that he can't stop smelling his husband.

  
“What do you want to know?” Jared says, arms dropping stiffly down to his sides. “Do you want me to start from the beginning?”

  
Jared’s voice is laden, heavy with something Jensen doesn’t want to label as guilt, and he shrugs, defeated.

  
“The beginning,” Jensen says, tips his chin up. “Alright,” Jared says, and he takes a step closer only for Jensen to skitter backwards.

  
“Jesus. M’not gonna hurt you, okay? Baby, I would never touch you like that,” Jared’s voice is more solid than before, certain on this one point and Jensen nods repeatedly.

  
“I know that. I know you wouldn’t do that,” Jensen says, because he does, honestly.

  
“The guys own the whole penthouse suite. We get the whole top floor,” Jared says carefully, like Jensen hasn’t stayed on players row with Jared multiple times since they first got together.

  
“This time wasn’t any different. We got the floor. Hinrich and Der had a pissing contest in front of the girls,” Jared says, half-smirk playing at his mouth the way it always does when he recalls the antics of his teammates.

  
Jensen likes the look on him, nostalgia personified, wonders if he didn’t ruin his husband by marrying him too soon, even if Jared’s just that much older than he is.

  
“Some of it’s true,” Jared says, crosses over to his couch and settles down, his jacket across the room, wife-beater fully exposed.

  
It’s black, sticks to his skin in some odd places where Jensen figures that he’s sweated through the fabric.

  
He’s a little perturbed at the way that Jared still manages to turn him on, even in spite of this thing and he breathes out through his mouth, scrubs at the blood-tinge of his eyes.

  
“You're right. It’s all over the news,” Jared sighs, scrubs a hand over his face and Jensen watches as his hand shivers, catches on the fine slope of his nose.

  
Jensen makes a kind of whine, it escapes unbidden and Jared flips his head up, stands and crosses so that he’s right in Jensen’s sphere without so much as a by your leave.

  
“Hey, hey, hey,” Jared says, passes those too-large hands over Jensen’s hair and face, overheated.

  
“You hurt? What’s wrong?” Jared’s brow furrows and he drags palms down to meet around Jensen’s neck, laces them together at the nape.

  
“N-nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. I’m not hurt or anything,” Jensen says, and Jared leans lower, sucks up all that unnecessary space between them.

  
“You weren’t gonna let me touch you,” Jared breathes, moves one hand so he can dip his thumb into the softest portion of Jensen’s lower lip.

  
“I need you. I need you so bad right now,” Jared admits, closes them up together and Jensen remembers how hard it is to breathe when he’s around him.

  
“Let go,” he asks, squeezes his eyes shut so that he’s not confronted with Jared’s gaze.

  
“Jen. Sweetheart, lemme explain. Let me tell you,” he pleads, and Jensen reaches up high enough to shove Jared back, hands wrapped around biceps.

  
Jared goes easy; Jensen could never amass enough strength to move him if he didn’t allow it, and Jensen wraps both arms around his middle, gasps ugly in the center of the living room.

  
“There’s security footage, Jensen!” Jared says, voice rises and Jensen chokes on his own tears.

  
“The game was over. I like hanging with the guys, you know that, but we haven’t--baby, I haven’t even touched you in weeks.”

  
Jared makes a half-aborted step forward and stops himself in time, straightens up to his full height.

  
“My flight was at nine. The g--they got there at eleven. There’s footage. I’ll have Jeff queue it up. I’ll send him back to Miami, I swear to God.”

  
Jensen doesn’t know why he’s crying, isn’t sure if he’s even making sense of what Jared’s saying, and his husband’s voice is rising, swelling-horror.

  
“I got my ticket as proof. I’ll get the video and it’ll show you. It’s gonna show you everything.” Jensen’s never heard Jared desperate before, never seen Jared beg for anything that wasn’t freely handed to him.

  
“What, what did they do? Jared, the whole team--what did they do?” Jensen doesn’t recognize his own voice, startles himself so badly that his knees buckle.

  
“I’m not gonna tell you that,” Jared says firmly, first sign of his old self that Jensen can recognize. “I’ll tell you my part, and I’ll show you my truth but I’m not gonna--I don’t want you to look at ‘em different. Not until you trust me again.”

  
Jensen’s shaking his head, thinks about the fact that Jared’s covering for them, for whatever his teammates, his friends did at the Four Seasons.

  
“Get the fuck a-away f-from me!” Jensen screams, suddenly, nonsensically enraged. He’s never yelled at Jared before. Even in the midst of their arguments, of which there aren’t many, he’s never felt the need to hurt him.

  
Jensen turns toward the stairs, reaches for the bottom of the hoodie and makes to drag it up and over his body, wants to run from this house and this life.

  
He doesn’t feel Jared coming in the end, finds himself pressed face-first against the wall adjacent to his kitchen and Jensen wails, sleeves tangled around his abdomen.

  
“Don’t touch that,” Jared hisses, voice banked. “Don’t you do that. You don’t even know the whole story, Jen. You won’t even--you need to wait for Jeff. I need you to trust me.”

  
Jared’s weight has him pinned, stapled to the wall like a fly and he can hear Jared’s heartbeat, erratic and magnified against his spine.

  
That’s the problem, Jensen thinks, horrified. He does trust Jared. He doesn’t like that Jared’s implicated in something that’s splashed all over CNN, but that’s not the issue.

  
The problem is that Jared has his pick of everyone on planet earth, and he’s been a damn fool to think he was gonna be the basketball spouse to make his relationship last.

  
“I need you to trust me,” Jared repeats, harder, this time, presses his hips forward involuntarily and it connects to Jensen’s ass, adrenaline-hard and impregnable.

  
“Jensen. Jensen, please. I don’t give a fuck about the team. I don’t give a shit about any of ‘em. About Der or Vinny or any of it.”

  
Jensen shudders out his air, spine arching his ass out in a shameful way. “I can always play. They’re always gonna want me,” Jared continues, and Jensen almost nods in agreement, never heard a more true statement.

  
“But I have to have you. It’s you I gotta keep.” Jared uses one hand to keep Jensen’s neck in place, breathes heavy over already moist skin.

  
“I can’t--I can’t handle it--n-not if--” Jensen has trouble pushing the words out and Jared reaches one hand down to palm roughly at his ass, snakes a finger down the dry crease without preamble.

  
“You won’t. I didn’t. I’m not giving you up. Not ever,” Jared says, and Jensen arches into the touch, responding immediately to something he hasn’t felt in too long.

  
“I like that you keep this on,” Jared says, drags cotton down to its rightful place around Jensen’s hips. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”

  
Jensen whimpers when Jared shoves his index forward, allows it to catch of the dry wrinkle of his hole, small snag that makes him bump and grind against the plaster.

  
“I like that you’re my husband and you got my name and my colors--” Jared says, cuts himself off so that he can bite sharply at Jensen’s neck, suck on the soft flesh there.

  
Jensen tips his neck to the side, slow slide that Jared always receives, and Jared moans for it, so hungry he gnaws harder.

  
“D--don’t--below the collar. Jared,” Jensen gasps, “you f-fucking ass,” he breathes, and Jared huffs out a laugh against his neck.

  
“I like you marked up,” he whispers, heated and wanting and then that one thick finger pushes its way up further, dry clutch of skin that Jensen can rock back on.

  
“O--oh, shit, fuck,” Jensen groans, “please. Just. Jus’ one more,” Jensen asks, and Jared is silent, unforgiving in his descent and he shoves Jensen up on tiptoes just so that he can take even more.

  
“This is it. All of it. Come on this. Right now. Fuck yourself,” Jared mutters, lower than normal, incessant.

  
Jensen’s mouth drops wide and then he clamps down on his lower lip and his dick trembles with release, come smeared against Carolina Blue.

  
He rocks up into that digit, searching for the final climax, baby grunts escaping and Jared talks him through it, hot and hard and snug between his ass cheeks.

  
“You stay with me,” Jared says, doesn’t move them from their position and Jensen cools, sheltered by the warmth of his husband’s chest.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave thoughts, ideas, theories or desires!


End file.
